


Between the Mountain and the Wood

by Willowe



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Lothlórien, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowe/pseuds/Willowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You accused me of not understanding your grief, Master Dwarf, but it is I alone out of the entire company who truly understands your pain for I have lived through it myself."</i>
</p><p> </p><p>The tenuous start of the friendship between Legolas and Gimli.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between the Mountain and the Wood

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this piece comes from Gimli's words to Galadriel, "... And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it [her hair] shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days."

Gimli does not shed a tear for the ruin that is the great halls of Khazad-dûm as they flee from the shadow of the mountains. His heart is heavy with grief and sorrow, but he cannot mourn for that which is lost when danger still lurks around them. Aragorn insists that the woods of Lothlórien will be safe, but this forest is elven territory and his wariness gives him something to focus on besides the memories that he dares not let himself think of yet.

Celeborn welcomes him eagerly enough and Gimli, knowing how precarious this sanctuary is, bows low and politely and says nothing- until Celeborn, in his grief at Gandalf’s death, accuses his people of purposefully awakening the evil of Durin’s Bane that has long slept beneath the mountain. It is, of all people, Galadriel who defends him, speaking the names of Kheled-zâram and Kibil-nâla as if she learned Khuzdul from the mouth of dwarves themselves. And when Gimli looks up at her some of the bitterness in his heart disappears, for it is as if for the first time he sees understanding in the heart of an elf.

Lothlórien, like her elven guardian, holds a beauty that even Gimli cannot deny, but it does not bring the peace to his heart that he so desperately needs. He mourns the death of Balin and Ori, and so many other noble dwarves who bodies lay where they fell, tramped by orcs and goblins and rotting forever in the lost halls of what was once the greatest dwarf kingdom in Middle Earth. He would, if he could, turn aside from the quest and return to the halls of his kin to tell them of this news, but he knows he can do no such thing. He pledged his allegiance to the Ring-bearer and he will see this quest through to the end, no matter what other path his heart wishes for him to take.

“You are troubled.”

The quiet voice startles Gimli out of his thoughts and he frowns at Legolas, his irritation at being disturbed coming through in his words. “Blasted elves, always sneaking up on people! Did your interruption have a purpose, or do you simply enjoy disturbing the peace of others?”

“As I said, your thoughts appear to be troubled,” Legolas says. He leans against the tree Gimli is sitting underneath and the dwarf grumbles, unhappy that the elf appears to be staying for the time being. “I thought perhaps it would help you to talk about it.”

“I don’t need to talk about it to some pointy-eared elvish princeling who wouldn’t understand anyway,” Gimli snaps. He turns pointedly away from the elf, hoping that if he ignores Legolas he will give up and leave him be.

There is silence for a long moment and Gimli wonders bitterly what he did to deserve a meddlesome elf in his life. Is it not enough that he has seen firsthand the darkness that has fallen on Khazad-dûm? Is it not enough that mere days earlier he wept at the tomb of his cousin, whom he did not even know was dead?

“You are correct that I am an elvish prince,” Legolas says quietly. Gimli huffs and turns further away from the elf. “I grew up in the kingdom of Eryn Lasgalen, the beautiful realm of Greenwood the Great. There are few who remember that name now. _Mirkwood_ my home is called, and an apt name that is for our lands have fallen prey to the encroaching darkness.”

Gimli doesn’t move but he listens to the elf’s story as Legolas continues. “Giant spiders move further into our kingdom, preying on those unlucky enough to get caught unawares in the forest. Whatever foul evil Sauron brewed in the depths of Dol Guldur in the southern reaches of the forest spreads ever farther north, bringing darkness with it and destroying all that is fair and good.”

Gimli has heard these tales before, from his father and the rest of those dwarves who journeyed with Thorin Oakenshield to reclaim Erebor. He knows of the dangers of the spiders, of the true nature of the Necromancer who hid in the ruins in the southern forest, and he has learned to be wary of the darkness of Mirkwood. But never has he considered what the forest was like before evil began to spread, and hearing Legolas tell his story with such bitterness touches something in the dwarf’s heart.

Gimli can feel when Legolas glances down at him, but his own gaze is locked on the ground at his feet. He is unable to bring himself to look at the elf quite yet. “You accused me of not understanding your grief, Master Dwarf, but it is I alone out of the entire company who truly understands your pain for I have lived through it myself,” Legolas says. “I have faced the darkness destroying my home and seen how futile our efforts are, and I have sat back and watched as our great kingdom became little more than a place of shadow and fear. I have seen the fall of Eryn Lasgalen and watched the growth of Mirkwood, and my heart was heavy with sorrow and grief.”

“How do you bear it?” Gimli bites out. He will not cry in front of the elf, but keeping his tears at bay is a near thing. “How do you move forward when faced with the destruction of that which you hold most dear?”

Legolas pushes off of the tree and stands in front of Gimli. “Come with me,” he says, and reaches down to offer his hand to the dwarf.

Gimli stares at the hand for a moment, before looking up at Legolas and taking it.

Legolas pulls Gimli to his feet and leads him deep into the heart of Lothlórien, up into the tallest of trees and through a series of flets that make Gimli’s heart race with fear that he will fall to his death, until finally they break through the canopy and look out over the top of the forest. It is sunset and the tops of the trees glitter gold in the fading light.

“That is my homeland,” Legolas says, pointing east towards Mirkwood Forest. Gimli looks where he points, expecting to see the dark and foreboding forest he has heard many tales about, but instead that forest too shines in the light of the dying sun, an echo of the beauty it once held. “Even in her darkest time, beauty may still be found under those trees. And look!” he points west towards the Misty Mountains. “There is beauty too in your people’s ancient home!”

Gimli braces himself and looks west. The mountains are cast in shadow as the sun sets behind them, and the silhouette they make against the fiery sky holds a beauty enough to make his heart ache.

“Your kin sleep beneath those mountains,” Legolas says quietly. “Their tombs will remain undisturbed by the passage of time, forever surrounded by the home they fought to keep. I can think of no resting place more fitting for your warrior brethren.”

Tears are streaming freely down Gimli’s face now and he wipes them away with a shaking hand. “Their spirits are with Mahal now,” he says gruffly. “There, they will be honored. And when I return to my people and bring news of their deaths, we will feast and sing of their bravery as they deserve.”

“A fitting tribute for dwarves such as them,” Legolas says. “Though, forgive me. Who is this Mahal of whom you speak?”

Gimli glances up at Legolas in surprise. “He is the maker of dwarves,” he says. “The one who gave us life. We return to him in death, so that at the end of days we can return to remake the world.”

“I did not know the dwarves held such beliefs,” Legolas admits. “In our tradition, Aulë is the maker of dwarves and after your death you simply return to the stone you were made from.”

Gimli laughs at that, the noise startling a flock of birds from a neighboring tree. “Different names and different traditions indeed! Come, get me out of this blasted tree and I will tell you the true stories of dwarvish history.”

Long they walked under tree that night, and when Legolas finally leads their path back to the rest of the Company Gimli finds his heart is lighter than it had been when they left.

“Do not think your reeducation of dwarvish traditions is over, Master Elf!” Gimli tells Legolas. “We have much still to discuss, if you can pry yourself away from whatever you’ve been occupied with these past few days.”

Legolas laughs lightly, the sound drawing the attention of the rest of the Fellowship who were gathered nearby. “I look forward to it, Gimli son of Glóin! And perhaps I will get a chance to instruct you in Elvish history myself!”

Gimli _hmphs_ , trying his best to hide a smile behind his usual gruff nature. “We shall see,” he says simply, and Legolas laughs again before disappearing back into the forest.

Later, when Gimli has retired for the night, he hears the soft voices of hobbits talking nearby. “I swear, I heard it with my own ears! Gimli and Legolas, talkin’ to each other as if they were friends!”

“You’ve gone mad, Sam! It would take a miracle for that to happen!”

Gimli chuckles to himself and rolls over, closing his eyes and trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. A miracle, indeed. Or perhaps, simply a better understanding for that which is not so very different after all. He would not consider the elf a friend, not yet, but in his half-asleep mind he can quietly admit that perhaps, one day, they might strike a balance of friendship that would truly surprise them all.


End file.
